Heatstroke
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Dr. Love faces her most perplexing challenge yet!
1. Heatstroke

A twig cracked under her foot.

Phoebe ducked down into the bushes just as Mikhail's head swiveled around, searching for the source of the noise. Cursing herself for being so careless, she watched Mikhail through the thick tangle of the bush, her body tense. She could only see his feet from where she was crouched- set far apart, ready for any potential attack that might come his way- but she imagined that his eyes were carefully scanning every corner of the surrounding foliage.

A second passed then two more. And then he began moving, his steps slow and cautious, right towards the bush she was hiding under. She bit her lip and willed her invisibility to work again, but it was no use; she'd exhausted it just following him out into this deep part of the forest. Not that it would have helped much if it had worked. He could still hear her, and perhaps even sense her psychic signature, if he was sensitive enough to do so.

He stood there in front of the bush for one nerve-racking minute. Phoebe kept her head down, not trusting herself to look up (the movement of her head might jostle the branches), her gaze on his boots. They were dark brown and well-worn, with a layer of dirt clinging to the bottom.

Those boots began retreating a moment later, and Phoebe exhaled a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding. She stayed where she was, waiting for Mikhail to be a safe distance away before sitting up and peering over the bushes. Her heart was still beating fast, likely from how close he had been to catching her.

If he had caught her, he probably would have thought that she was spying on him. She was not. She was observing him, and yes there was a difference between the two. One was an important part of the scientific process; the other was weird, and more than a little creepy in this context. Not that she would have been able to explain that to him in any sort of logical manner. Phoebe frowned as she observed Mikhail, who was investigating a skinny birch, his fingers tracing the lines of some scratches left behind by an unknown creature.

It wasn't like she was doing this for her own amusement! She certainly had better things to do than spy on- observe- Mikhail Bulgakov. She could have been back at the main lodge with Quentin, practicing the new song they had written last week, or counseling Clem Foote, her newest project, instead of hiding in this bush getting sticks and leaves tangled in her hair. But right now she was having an Issue, and she knew that it was important for her to resolve this as soon as she could, lest it fester and become a Problem.

She had become aware of the Issue three days ago, late one mild Sunday morning. She'd been making her way to the campfire area to meet Quentin when she spotted the Coach's jeep levitating in the air, seemingly of its own accord. That had been enough to give her pause, and she had stopped, puzzled, until she saw Mikhail standing a few feet away to the vehicle's left. One of his arms had been bent at the elbow, touching two fingers to his forehead, the other held stiffly out, ramrod straight. He had held the jeep up for three seconds before gently setting it back down in its parking space, his arm following the jeep's descent. A moment later it was back in the air, hovering maybe two feet above the asphalt.

Phoebe had watched him for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest. As impressive as that feat of strength was, it was one that would land Mikhail in a world of trouble should one of the counselors discover him (especially the Coach). Was that what they did in his home country? Did Russian psychics just spend their days using cars and trucks as the psychic equivalent of a weight set? That sort of thing might have been fine in Russia, but here at Whispering Rock it wasn't. Perhaps nobody had explained that to him. Phoebe had figured then that somebody ought to, and who better than herself? Explaining things to others was one of her many talents and she had just recently read a book on cultural sensitivity, and was eager for the opportunity to test those skills out.

With that thought in mind, she had strode over to him confidently, the anticipation of opening up an important cross-cultural dialogue driving her forward. He had been too absorbed in his strenuous task to notice her approach, his teeth gritted in exertion. She had opened her mouth and then closed it, realizing that startling him when he was levitating a two and half ton jeep in the air probably wasn't the smartest idea. So she had waited there as he held the jeep in his psychic grasp, watching as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face and along the edge of his jaw.

She had been wondering why she had noticed something like that at all when his gaze had slid toward her from the corner of his eye. He set the jeep down just as gently as before and turned to face her, his face blank but not unfriendly. "Firestarter," he had said, his accented voice deeper and more mature than any of the other boys at camp.

She had been caught off-guard when he had called her 'Firestarter', unsure if he was referring to the band (which would have been good because it meant that her band name idea was catching on and not Quentin's,) or to her pyromania (which would have been totally insensitive of him). The confusion had caused the words that she had been about to say to crawl back down into her throat, and she had only been able to stare up at him dumbly in response to his greeting.

Mikhail had stared back, head tilted downwards (and wow, Phoebe hadn't noticed just how tall he was until she was standing right in front of him), one eyebrow disappearing into his hat as he raised it. "You want something?"he had asked, puzzled by her actions but not impatient.

The question had snapped her out of her silence but not out of whatever stupor she had fallen into. She had come over here with the intention of educating Mikhail on what was and was not an appropriate item to practice telekinesis on in America, but all she'd been able to do was stammer out "The Coach's jeep" while gesturing vaguely in the direction of the vehicle.

"Ah."He nodded in understanding, the corners of his mouth going upward in a confident smile. Coincidently, her heart rate had gone up at the same time, and a faint heat had crept up her neck. _It must be heatstroke,_ Phoebe had thought, though the mildness of the day had cast some doubt on that conclusion.

Mikhail had turned back towards the jeep, resuming his previous stance. "Is good workout for brain," he explained as his telekinetic hand hoisted the jeep back up into the air, slowly but surely. "Improvement can only come when abilities tested."

Phoebe had swallowed dryly, more focused on Mikhail's outstretched arm than on what he had been saying. From a distance, his arms had appeared thin, but up close she could see how leanly muscled they were. They were the kind of arms that could easily pick her up and throw her…or hold her really, really tightly.

It must have been heatstroke that had caused her cheeks to flare up the way they did. "You'll get-" she cut herself off, paused, and then tried again. "If you get caught, you'll get in trouble!" she blurted out, mentally chastising herself immediately after. This was not how she had planned to address this at all! Where the heck had her usual professionalism gone?

"Is fine," Mikhail had replied, concentrating too hard on the floating jeep to notice how flustered Phoebe was. "Skinny Scientist said Mikhail could do high-intensity training in parking lot, so long as red car not touched." His arm inched upward, the jeep moving in time with it. "Just so. War jeep much heavier." Again, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Much better test of strength."

Her heart, still beating rapidly (because of the heat), had skipped a beat when he looked at her, and she had switched her gaze to the jeep now hovering three feet in air. "Well," she had said, an odd fluttery feeling in her stomach, "I guess if Agent Nein says its okay…" She had trailed off, her mind going completely blank on what to say next, and too awed by Mikhail's telekinetic talent to reflect on how strange it felt to be struck speechless.

The jeep levitated higher and higher, but her eyes had been more drawn to the psychic responsible for the spectacle than the spectacle itself. Mikhail hadn't seemed bothered by her presence; if anything having an audience bolstered his strength, as he raised the jeep up higher than he had the previous two times she had witnessed him doing this. At its highest, the jeep had been about four feet off the ground. Mikhail had held it there for a few seconds, his eyes squinting in concentration (he had the darkest eyes she had ever seen, a shade near black). When it began to teeter forward, he hadn't tried to keep it up in the air, instead acknowledging that he'd lifted it as far as he safely could and setting it back down. "New record," he said proudly as he turned back toward her, grinning.

Her heart had stopped when he had looked at her before, but when he smiled at her triumphantly her brain had simply lost all function. She had smiled back, if only because her lips had been the only part of her that she could reliably control. "Yeah that's…nice." So were his teeth. They weren't perfect, the canines a little more pointed than normal, but for reasons she couldn't understand that just made them even more appealing.

"Nice," Mikhail had repeated, raising his eyebrow again. That one quirk of an eyebrow had caused her cheeks to blaze, and her face had felt hotter than it did when she was angry. "Little Firestarter difficult to impress." His smile had not faltered, and he sounded more than willing to step up to the task of impressing her. He examined the parking lot, tapping his chin contemplatively. His eyes locked onto the camp bus. "Mikhail lift bus and jeep at same time," he said, placing his index and middle finger back on his forehead. "Firestarter will witness accomplishment and think it much better than nice."

It must have been the teasing way he had spoken that had set her off. She hadn't been angry (on the contrary, she'd felt giddy that he had wanted to impress her at all) but for some reason smoke began billowing out from the inside of Mikhail's shirt.

He had looked down, alarmed by the sudden heat, and jumped back to get out of the range of her pyrokinesis (a somewhat unnecessary action- she had stopped herself just short of actually lighting him up once she realized what was happening). "Ah, sorry," he had said, not the least bit distressed despite having nearly been set on fire. "Mikhail misinterpret. Firestarter want match, not performance." He went into a wrestler's stance, arms out wide. "Challenge accepted."

"W-wait!" she had shouted, holding her hands out defensively as he advanced. Her face was still burning up, and if he tackled her they would both end up in engulfed in flames. "I didn't-"

"What in the Sam Hill are you punks doing in the parking lot?" The Coach's shouts had stopped Mikhail in his tracks. "Bulgakov!" he had barked, his face redder than Phoebe's as he hurried down to them, faster than one would have thought him capable on his stubby legs. "You better not have been messing with the War Machine again!"Phoebe had taken the opening that the Coach had given her to escape, rushing off to the campfire area before she could hear Mikhail's response.

The incident had been at the forefront of her mind during the three days that passed. It wasn't that she had slipped up and almost burned somebody that had bothered her (though she certainly hadn't been proud of it) so much as the fact that she couldn't figure out why she had done it all. She had made mistakes in the past- nobody was perfect- but usually she was able to pinpoint the exact thing that had triggered it, whether it be somebody testing her temper or an object that looked like it would burn in a particularly entertaining manner. Mikhail had not been either of those things.

To make matters worse, it quickly became clear that whatever weird effect Mikhail was having on her hadn't been limited to that incident in the parking lot. Anytime she was within close proximity to him her face would get all hot, and she'd suddenly feel as though burning something was the only outlet she had for this inexplicable feeling. The day before yesterday Mikhail had walked into the main lodge with Maloof while she and Quentin had been practicing, and she'd been forced to abruptly leave the stage before she set her drumsticks on fire. And just this morning she had had to cut a counseling session with Elka short, simply because the Russian had been visible in the window of the girl's cabin.

She had no idea why Mikhail's presence was affecting her the way that it was. It wasn't just the heat in her face, it was the flipping of her stomach, the way her heart beat a little faster, and the way that all of the thoughts in her brain just died whenever he happened to glance her way, even if it was just for a second.

There were only two things that she was sure of right now: that this issue was interfering with both her hobbies and her training, and that Mikhail Bulgakov was at the center of it.

And that was how she found herself trailing him at what she hoped was a safe distance, going further into the forest than she ever had before. There was still a dirt path here but it wasn't well-tended, a slender line nearly overgrown with patches of green grass. They both risked a stern talking-to from Ranger Cruller if he caught them in this off-limits section of the woods, but it was a risk that she was willing to take. Besides, being this far out from camp took away all of the potential distractions that may have kept her from concentrating fully on finding out what the source of her Issue was with Mikhail. It also meant that she could be alone with him, an idea that sent an odd thrill through her (but why? It was yet another mystery to add to the pile).

Mikhail abandoned the scratched-up tree and headed further down the path. Phoebe waited a bit before following, her eyes on his back. He had such a strong gait, she noted, his back straight and his arms swinging at his sides as he walked, not too fast and not too slow. Where he was going, she had no idea, and he probably didn't know either, given that he was tracking the creature that had left those scratches. That lack of knowledge of where he would wind up and what he would face when he got there only seemed to spur him onward to a challenge that he was excited to face. It was something that Phoebe understood –hunting and wrestling those bears must give him the same feeling that she got whenever she made a breakthrough with a patient or mastered a new psychic ability. It dawned on her that they had something in common, and that realization made her want to jump out of her hiding spot and catch up to him. Maybe they could talk about less aggressive ways to test his abilities...

She remained hidden, knowing that she wasn't ready to talk him yet. She settled for sneakily scuttling out of her bush and into another one that was much closer to him.

He had stopped again, kneeling down on the ground to examine some tracks. Phoebe didn't know what had left them, but from the way that he was frowning they might not have been bear tracks. The bush that she was hiding in offered an excellent view of his profile. He was just so sharp- his nose, his chin, the high slash of his cheekbones. There was not a shred of baby-fat on him, yet another feature that set him apart from the other campers (except for Bobby Zilch, but puberty hadn't been nearly as kind to him as it had been to Mikhail).

He rose to his feet suddenly and turned away, his back to her. It looked as though his head was tilted upwards, but it was hard for her to tell, because his hat was in the way. Her eyes became locked on to the hat and she wondered what it was called- she only knew it as a distinctly Russian garment. She decided that she would ask him once she resolved this Issue.

That was what she should have been focusing her attention on, but she was unable to draw her mind away from that hat. She'd never seen him without it and it was likely that only those he bunked with had. Unless he slept with it on? Would it even fit in the bed? Probably not, she guessed. The beds weren't very long, and he was already tall to begin with, having at least a foot on her. She'd barely reach his shoulders even if she stood on her tip-toes. She would have to levitate if she wanted to be eye-to-eye with him. Or he could just lift her up the rest of the way with those strong arms of his…

By the time she noticed that the temperature had risen ten degrees two small embers had flickered onto his hat, and were spreading fast towards each other. Before she could even shout out a warning he flung the hat off of his head, where it rolled off to the side. His arm shot out in her direction and all of a sudden she was in the air and upside down, and quickly being pulled to where he was standing. This had not been how she envisioned him picking her up, with one leg in his telekinetic grip and the other dangling free. _But if I had,_ she thought as she scrambled to grab the hem of her shirt before it could ride up, _I probably wouldn't have gotten caught._

He stopped her right in front of him, that same triumphant expression that he had had while successfully lifting the Coach's jeep on his face. Amazingly enough, the look was just as attractive when seen upside down as it was when she was right-side up. "Little Firestarter," he said, not at all surprised to have found her hiding in that bush. "Ambush plot very clever, but doomed from the start." He grinned at her, and her head felt very light-from the blood rushing to it of course.

The hold that he had on her leg was not painful, just tight enough to keep her where he wanted her. "I wasn't- No!" she said as she struggled in mid-air, twisting this way and that. "Put me down!"

"Mikhail know Firestarter wanted match," he continued, ignoring her demand. "You do poor job of hiding it. So I lead you out to off-limits section of woods with plan of counterattack. It work, and now Firestarter must admit defeat."

"I wasn't trying to ambush you!" she insisted. She stopped moving, knowing that continuing would only exhaust her. "This is all just a misunderstanding."

Mikhail did that eyebrow raise of his, and oh wow, she could actually see his eyebrows now. And his hair, for that matter. It was a brown so dark that it was near black, like his eyes, his bangs flat against his forehead. Even though he had put her in such an undignified position, she had to admit that it complimented is features well. "Why follow Mikhail if not planning sneak attack?" he asked, skeptical of her protests. "Why make first move?"

Would telling the truth make her situation more or less embarrassing? She took a deep breath to buy herself sometime to think. "I'll explain everything," she said, keeping her tone as level and logical as she could, "if you put me down."

"Hmm." He scratched his chin, appearing to consider her request, but the glint in his eyes had her thinking that he wasn't taking her seriously at all. "Firestarter will be set down," he said lightly, the barest hint of teasing in the words. "Right after she concede match and acknowledge victory."

"Stop calling me that! My name's Phoebe!" she said, completely exasperated. "And no, I'm not going to say that you won anything, because I wasn't trying to fight you!" Heat was rising up within her again, but this time she knew that the source was her growing anger.

"So be it." He shrugged and pulled her body closer to his. "Mikhail will just have to dunk you in river." He inclined his head back, in the direction where the river supposedly was.

"What!" Her voice came out in an offended shriek, mimicking the sound she would probably make once he put her in the cold water. "You better not!" she yelled, renewing her attempts to wrest free of his psychic grip. "Don't you dare!"

"Is necessary," he said, nodding solemnly. "As precaution against further pyrokinetic assault."

There was no way that anyone was dunking Phoebe Love into a body of water, no matter how tall, dark and handsome they were. She swung her free leg out as hard as she could. Her foot slammed into his face, the impact eliciting a nasty crunch, and then she was on the ground, free at last. She managed to land on her hands rather than her head, and apart from being a little dizzy, was relatively okay.

Mikhail hadn't fared so well. He was covering his nose with his hand, but she could spot drops of blood staining the yellow of his Whispering Rock T-shirt, his eyes wide with surprise. Oh God, was his nose broken? This whole endeavor had gone about as disastrously as it possibly could have, short of her accidently killing him. Even now she could feel her cheeks getting hot. The best thing for her to do now would be to flee back to camp and hide in the girl's cabin until she figured out a way to apologize to him without making an even bigger fool of herself.

She launched herself to her feet and sped off down the trail, yelling out a quick "Sorry!" that she wasn't even sure that he could hear.

* * *

Mikhail watched the Firestarter's retreating back as he clutched his bloody nose, the echoes of her apology reverberating throughout the forest. He pulled his hand away from his face, impressed that her small foot had done so much damage. He untied the bandanna from around his shoulders and wiped his hand clean before pressing the cloth to his nose.

The pain was sharp and it would hurt for the next few hours, but he didn't think it was broken. If it was, that was fine- it wasn't anything he hadn't been through before. He telekinetically retrieved his hat from the ground, placing it in his other hand. Patches of fur had been burned away in two spots, leaving behind black scorch marks in their place. Seeing those patches made him smile. It really had been a smart move, one that would have been a great distraction had he not already been prepared for it.

He set the hat back on his head and began his trek back to camp. As he walked, he reflected on the match, going over his mistakes. Obviously he'd been too cocky- he let himself tease her about dunking her in the river (something he hadn't really been planning to do, even if the river hadn't been on the other side of the forest) and she had wisely taken advantage of it, a move he respected. He wouldn't make that mistake again, should there ever be a rematch.

Although…the Firestarter- no Phoebe, she said her name was Phoebe- had insisted so hard that they hadn't been in a match at all. Could that have just been more distractions on her end? Perhaps, but that didn't explain why she had fled so hastily, or why she had apologized for taking the opening he had given her. Mikhail furrowed his brows, only just now realizing how strange her behavior had been. Then he shrugged. He could ask her about it later, when he formally conceded the match in her favor. Whether she had meant to or not, she had definitely won this round.

The prospect of talking to her again sped his steps up, and he hurried back to camp, his mood light in spite of the pain in his nose.


	2. Cool-Down

At the Psychowhatsits discord, my friend and mod Kai requested a Phoebe/Mikhail prompt with this in mind:

There's a thing that bears do sometimes, where they can be seen just sitting and staring at nothing in particular, and there's no proof of it but people like to theorize that maybe bears just enjoy sitting and taking in the day, like how people do  
So maybe Mikhail does that kind of thing sometimes, because it's a nice day and clearly the bears are onto something

Naturally, I thought this was AMAZING and wanted to write it...and then it sort of evolved into Heatstroke part 2! so here it is, a sequel to something I wrote a year and a half ago! Thanks Kai, I went really went ham with this one!

Chapter Text

* * *

For the second time in a week, Phoebe Love found herself observing Mikhail Bulgakov in the wilds of Camp Whispering Rock.

This time was different though, and not just because she was hiding behind a tree instead of in a bush. Last time she had observed him it was because she'd been experiencing strange symptoms anytime he was near her, symptoms that included an embarrassing loss of control over her pyrokinesis, impaired brain function and an odd rush of blood to the face. That round of observations had ended in disaster, as he had caught her in the act before she could obtain any insight into the nature of her issue. Getting caught 'observing' him (she would not call it spying, because that was not what she had been doing no matter what Quentin said) was humiliating enough, but he then he had begun teasing her while she squirmed upside down in his telekinetic grip. The insult to her pride had been too much, and she had wound up kind of, sort of...kicking him in the face.

They had not directly interacted since that moment, though she had certainly noticed him anytime he came within a twenty-foot radius of her. And he had seen her as well, because he'd actually tried to approach her a few times, most likely to call her out for giving him the painful-looking bruise on his swollen nose. She didn't know for sure, though, as she'd been quick to vacate the area anytime she saw him striding toward her. To make things even worse, her symptoms still persisted; had gotten even worse, in fact, for now even the mere thought of him caused her face to heat up faster than a burrito in the microwave.

She would have been content to avoid him for the rest of the summer had Vernon Tripe not wandered into the Main Lodge earlier today while she and Quentin were setting up for their afternoon band practice session. With no prompting from either of them, he began to tell them in great detail about the story he had just written, going on and on about how interesting it was as they set their equipment up. "You know who really liked it?" he asked, and without waiting for them to respond, answered his own question. "Mikhail. He couldn't get enough of it."

Phoebe, who had only been half-listening up until that point, jumped at the mention of the Russian's name, her startled movements causing her cymbals to clang together like a stack of plates crashing against each other. This reaction did not escape Quentin's notice, and so he, to Phoebe's chagrin and Vernon's delight, had politely requested further elaboration. "Oh man," he said, sending Phoebe a sly look, "how'd you know that Mikhail liked your story so much? That dude's like, super hard to impress!"

"It was obvious," Vernon had replied, leaning against Phoebe's bass drum in a most irritating manner. "Usually when he sees me, he gets all shouty and mad, but this time, he just sat there as I told him my story. He was enraptured."

None of that sounded like the Mikhail she knew. "He let you talk to him for more than five seconds?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Vernon gave a rapid bob of his head, oblivious to Phoebe's suspicion. "Oh yes, he sat completely still through the whole thing, so stunned by how good it was that he couldn't even move or blink."

That had not sounded like a person listening to an engaging story. That had sounded liked somebody who was unconscious, maybe even dead. "Was he breathing?" she blurted out, alarm propelling the words from her mouth.

Vernon had tapped his chin, tilting his head to the side. "You know, I'm not sure. I know that I was breathing. I remember because at one point something flew into my mouth. I coughed, then I wheezed, and then I coughed again. After that, I thumped my chest, which started the coughing up again. Then the bug flew out. It was a dragonfly."

"Where were you guys?" Phoebe demanded to know. When Vernon had said that he couldn't quite recall, she grasped him by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "Think Vernon, think!"

"Woah, Phoebe," Quentin had cut in, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Ease up on him." She had, realizing that she'd been acting with more aggression than the situation warranted.

"Hold on." Vernon held up a finger, unfazed by the rough rattling he had been subjected to. Being shaken had apparently jogged his memory, for he then claimed that he had been by the stream. "I ran into Benny before I saw Micky. He said he needed to borrow some arrowheads from me. So I reached into my pocket. I had two arrowheads, a paperclip, three skittles, and a grape-sized ball of lint. And when I say grape-sized, I mean the big, green kind, not the small red ones. Anyway, I got one of the arrowheads, but I had a hard time getting a grip on the second one, because the lint kept getting in the way. Benny tried to help out by sticking his hand in my pocket but that caused my mongoose-like reflexes to kick in, and I accidently pushed him. He fell backwards into the water and the stream carried him off. I followed along and that's when I ran into Micky."

Waiting for him to provide a more exact location would have wasted more time than it saved, so Phoebe had dashed out of the building, leaving Quentin alone to deal with the still-rambling Vernon. Finding Mikhail was easy, for she only had to go to the stream and follow it for a few minutes. She discovered him near the G.P.C., sitting with his back against a large oak, his hands clasped in his lap as he stared forward. She'd been relieved to see that he was breathing, but became worried once it became clear that was pretty much all he was doing. She had started to approach him with the intention of asking if he was alright, and if he wasn't, if there was anything she could do to help. It was what she would have done for anyone else, after all!

She was maybe a few feet away from him when it had occurred to her that Mikhail Bulgakov wasn't just anyone else- he was the boy that made her face all hot and tongue all tangled for reasons she had yet to figure out. He was also the boy that she had set on fire on two separate occasions, and whose nose she had nearly broken-maybe casually walking up to him wasn't such a good idea on her part, especially if he was having a crisis of some kind. _This is a delicate situation,_ Phoebe had thought as she ducked behind the nearest tree, _I should...observe him for a little while and think of a good plan of action to take._

And so she had stood there for a good fifteen minutes, peering out from the tree's trunk and admittedly doing more observing than thinking. In that time, Mikhail had done nothing more strenuous than blinking and breathing. At one point, a big wasp landed on his shoulder, languidly opening and closing its wings as it rested. Mikhail did not so much as twitch to get the thing off of him, and it flew away on its own after two minutes. _He really does put his all into everything,_ she thought, _even when he's not doing anything._ It was pretty impressive, actually- if a bug had landed on Phoebe, swatting it away would have been her first course of action.

His stillness didn't appear to be the result of any kind of physical distress, as he appeared uninjured save for the discoloration on his still-swollen nose (placed there courtesy of her foot). He looked good- and by good, she of course meant 'healthy' and not 'really, really handsome'- but Phoebe's concern for him continued to grow. She'd read about Catatonia before, about how it could make a person completely unresponsive to their environment. Was that what was happening here? _He doesn't strike me as schizophrenic, but didn't the book say that depression could cause it as well?_ Phoebe scrutinized his face, searching it for signs of despair, but his blank expression revealed no clues as to what was going on inside of his mind.

She tried to recall if she'd seen any signs of depression during those very brief moments when their paths had crossed and could not recall any. The only thing that she could think of that could have put him in a state like this was being defeated in one of his matches. _Or getting assaulted by a peer,_ Phoebe thought, guilt sinking like a lead ball into her gut. If that was the case, then he probably wouldn't feel comfortable talking to her. _Maybe I should go get Milla..._ But what if something happened to him while she running off to one of the counselors? A bear or a cougar could happen by and easily take advantage of his catatonic state and do him considerable harm while she was away. _If he is in a catatonic state...which he might not be._ But what other reason could there be for his current condition? He was usually so active, always in the middle of tracking some wild creature or honing his offensive skills, and seeing him sitting still for such a long period of time was disturbing to her.

She clutched at the bark, mentally going back and forth between checking up on him and going to an adult for help. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought, growing tired of her own indecisiveness. _You're an Astral Warrior. Just go over there and ask him if he's okay. If he's not, you can figure out what to do from there, and if he is, you can go back to the Main Lodge and move on._ The thought, provided to her by the rational part of her brain, bolstered her confidence enough so that she could push herself away from her tree and complete the short trek over to where he sat.

Back straight, head held high and eyes locked on her target, Phoebe strode over to him, making no effort to conceal her footsteps- she didn't want to scare him, after all. The heat that had lately been accompanying sightings of him did not rise up within her this time, even as she got closer to him, which she was very thankful for. _It's because he might need counseling,_ she thought, walking a little faster. _My professional instincts are taking over._ She came to a stop in front of him, setting her face into a friendly, open expression. "Hi Mikhail!" she said, giving a small, quick wave, feeling proud of herself for extending the greeting so easily. _Off to a great start._

At the sound of her voice, something came into his eyes, a brightness that had not been there a moment before. He turned his head to look at her, and actually smiled, his eyebrows going up in pleasant surprise. "Phoebe Love," he said, nodding at her.

The whole thing- the turn of his head, his lips curving upwards and forming the syllables of her name, even the movement of his eyebrows- seemed to happen in slow motion, though it probably took less than a second. Her confidence crumbled, the gate that kept her symptoms at bay along with it, and heat burst into her face like a river crashing through a ruined dam. "H-Hi Mikhail!" she repeated clumsily, too busy trying to keep herself from lighting her own hair on fire to put any thought into what came out of her mouth.

Internally, she winced at herself, but Mikhail appeared to be amused by her flustered behavior. "Hello Phoebe Love," he said, giving her a quick once-over. The way he said her name with his deep, accented voice sent a spark of excitement all the way up her spine. "You come to Mikhail for rematch? Usually is loser who issue second challenge."

He didn't sound too upset that she had intruded on his personal time; in fact, she detected a note of eagerness in his tone that nearly distracted her from the meaning of his words. "No, I didn't come to fight you," she said, careful not to imply that they had fought before (which they hadn't- what happened last week was a misunderstanding). "I was just…" She looked down at her shoes, hesitant to admit that she had rushed out here to check up on him. "I was just walking by the stream when I saw you here, and I wanted to see what you were up to." There, that was a good, honest explanation. No need to mention her conversation with Vernon, or the chunk of time she'd spent observing him before coming over.

"Ah." Mikhail nodded. "Just so. Mikhail does not normally engage in combat on Rest Day, but would have made exception for Little Firestarter."

He would have made an exception for her? Not that she wanted to fight him or anything. "Rest Day," she muttered, mulling the meaning of the phrase over in her head. "So you're basically taking a break," she concluded.

Mikhail leaned back against the tree, shifting a little so that he was more comfortably seated. "Break," he said, testing the word out. "Yes, Mikhail is taking break from regular routine. Overworking lead to injury, which lead to setbacks. So today set aside for rest. No running, no calisthenics, and no incredible feats of telekinetic strength."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was reminded of when she had discovered him lifting the Coach's jeep into the air like it was a toy. "And no fighting any bears," she finished, daring a small smile back at him.

"Yes. Bear will have to wait until tomorrow," he said.

Would a bear be that considerate? Phoebe would not have thought so, but she supposed that Mikhail knew more about the subject than she did. "So what have you been doing all day?" she asked, wanting to know what his hobbies were outside of wrestling.

He made a sweeping gesture down at himself. "Is what you see here."

The only thing Phoebe saw was him reclined against the tree. "You've been doing nothing?" Was she missing something, or was he teasing her again? "That's it?"

"Rest Day is for resting." Mikhail brought his arms up and folded them behind his head. "Is nice to sit and appreciate nature."

"Huh." Phoebe was surprised by the answer. "You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd be into that," she said. "I usually see you trying to fight nature."

It was only after she made the comment that she realized that it could have been construed as rude. Luckily, Mikhail didn't take offense. His close-lipped smile stretched out into a teasing grin, revealing the sharp canines that her eyes were always inexplicably drawn to. "Funny that Firestarter should say that," he said, a mischievous glint appearing in his dark eyes, "you spend so much time seeing Mikhail that you know what he is like? Very strong observational skill you have."

Embarrassment flooded through her, hot and liable to burn his eyebrows right off if she didn't get a grip on herself. "Well, you know…" she huffed, knowing that she must resemble a tomato with a ponytail. "You're so...tall, it's hard to miss you." She pointed accusingly at his hat. "Especially with that thing on."

He let out a bark of laughter. Any annoyance she may have been experiencing due to his teasing dissipated and was quickly replaced by fascination. The laugh had been brief, long enough to show that he found her amusing and loud enough to echo through the forest. There was no mockery in it- he found her funny but wasn't making fun of her. It was the first time she had heard him laugh, and her first thought upon hearing it was that he should do it more often. "This thing here," he said, touching the brim of his hat, unaware of how his short burst of laughter had affected her. "So that is why you try to burn it then? Make Mikhail not so tall?"

He was only joking, but Phoebe felt a short stab of guilt as her gaze shifted up to his hat and onto the furless, blackened stripe across the middle. She was responsible for that. Her loss of control over her pyrokinesis had damaged a possession of his, something that, for all she knew, could hold personal or cultural significance for him. "Yeah, about that," she said, swallowing nervously. "I'm sorry about setting your hat on fire." She forced herself to keep her gaze locked onto his face, even thought she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. _Own up to your actions and do your best to make amends. That's what Dr. Benson says._ "It was an accident." She took a deep breath before continuing, trying to keep her voice steady. "Sometimes I have trouble controlling my pyrokinesis and lately it's been spottier than usual." She refused to tack _Because of you_ on to the end of the sentence- making it sound like it was his fault would only cheapen her apology.

He regarded her solemnly, taking her seriously despite the puzzlement in his eyes. "No need for sorry," he said in a tone that, while not dismissive, implied that he did not understand why she was being remorseful. "Is only hat. Mikhail have many more like it back home."

"That doesn't make what I did okay," she said, though she was relieved to know that he wasn't upset about the damaged hat. She flexed her fingers idly, wondering what she should say next- maybe now was the time to apologize for kicking him in the face? _But that might confuse him, since he doesn't seem to get why I was saying sorry about the whole hat thing._ After a second of thought, she decided that they would both be better off if she just left him to enjoy the remainder of his Rest Day in peace. She had come out here to make sure that he was okay and it was obvious now that he was. No point in hanging around here any longer. "Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing," Phoebe said, already taking a step back. "So I guess I'll go and leave you to it. See you later." She flapped her hand rapidly in a way that was too clumsy to be called a wave.

"Oh." Was that disappointment in his voice? Phoebe didn't dare hope that it was. "Farewell, then."

"Yeah, bye." She continued walking in reverse, reluctant to take her eyes off of him. "Um, again sorry about your…" she waved a hand above her head, " and your…" With that same hand she touched the bridge of her nose, the same spot where most of the bruises on his face were. Her foot caught on her own pant leg and she scrambled to regain her footing before she fell. "Wow, I should probably watch where I'm going, huh?" She spun on her heel, intent on getting as far away from him as she could before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

"Phoebe!"

At his call, she came to a stop, having only gotten a few steps away. Anticipation rose up within her as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Yeah?" she asked. "What's up?" Already she sounded eager to hear what he had to say, even though she had no clue what he wanted.

"You busy? You are doing something important?"

It took her a moment to figure out that the two statements were actually questions- questions that her frazzled brain were drawing a blank on. "Why do you want to know?" she said, answering his inquiries with one of her own.

"Was thinking if Phoebe not busy," Mikhail replied, smiling in a way that relaxed his features, "that she come over and sit for a bit. Have break of her own."

 _No! Yes!_ Both responses raced to the tip of her tongue, and she bit down on her lip to keep herself from spouting out some unintelligible combination of the two. "I was going back to the Main Lodge," she said once her brain had recovered enough to supply her with that information. "I have, uh…" She mimicked hitting a drum with one of her drumsticks. "Band practice. With Quentin."

"Ah." Mikhail accepted her answer without protest. "Some other time then."

Wait, did he really want to hang out with her? The mere notion of it was enough for her to reconsider departing. "Well, actually," she said as she turned around. "I don't...you know, I don't have to go right this second." She began walking back over, resisting the urge to run over to him like a puppy to it's master. "Quentin won't mind waiting for me." _He'll be fine without me for a few more minutes. Besides, he's got Vernon to keep him company._ "I can stay for a little bit."

Really, it would have been foolish of her to not take Mikhail up on his offer, especially from a scientific standpoint. If this was his Rest Day, then that meant that he wouldn't try to engage her, or any of the passing wildlife in a fight. _We'll be able to have an actual conversation!_ A wide smile began to spread across her face. They could talk about him, about why he felt the need to prove himself in battle with everyone and everything. Or maybe it wouldn't get that deep, maybe they'd just stick to more casual subjects like movies, books, school subjects- even learning something as surface-level as his favorite color would be a huge step forward in their relationship. By the time she stood in front of him she was practically bouncing on her heels in excitement, eager to learn all there was to learn about Mikhial Bulgakov.

He slid to the side and crossed one leg over the other, creating a space between himself and the thick roots of the oak that was just large enough for her to squeeze into. The way one leg twisted over the other made her think of a long, twisting vine, and she took a second to run her eyes over the length of his limbs. Her gaze stopped at the hem of his pant legs, where the orange fabric transitioned into a brown the same shade as his boots. Gold threadwork arose from hem, the shape resembling a fern growing out of dark soil. She had never noticed how nicely made his pants were; most likely because he never stayed still long enough for her to examine them closely.

She realized that she was standing there, mouth slightly agape, staring at his pants, which was definitely a weird thing to be doing. Her gaze snapped over to his face to see if he had noticed, and sure enough he had, for he was looking at her with a sort of befuddled humor in his eyes. "I like your pants!" Phoebe blurted out, far louder than she had intended. "They're neat!" Neat? _Neat?_ Had she really said that out loud? To him?

"Oh!" He sounded a little surprised that she had complimented him on his pants of all things, but pleased nonetheless. "Is traditional Tatar garment, hand sewn by Mikhail's Babushka, and passed down from father." He plucked the fabric of his pant leg between his thumb and forefinger and then let go. "Made of sturdy material that allow for freedom of movement, suitable for all seasons and climates."

He spoke with such pride that Phoebe was suddenly quite glad that she had spoken so thoughtlessly. "That's really cool, Mikhail," she said, careful to pronounce his name the same way that he did (her mother had stressed the importance of pronouncing a person's name correctly as a show of respect). "Having a connection to your cultural heritage is really awesome."

Her efforts to say his name correctly did not go unnoticed. "Is Misha," he said, and she felt a fluttering within her chest at being granted permission to use his nickname. "Sit," he said, patting the dirt next to him. Phoebe did so, wanting to continue their conversation.

Unfortunately, it appeared that he did not feel the same way, for he lapsed into silence as she plopped herself down. He stared forward again, his expression going blank and back relaxed against the tree- essentially, he had resumed the position he had held before she walked up and started talking to him. He kept his lips in a flat line, and showed no interest in talking to her any further.

That was disappointing, but also a blessing, in a way, for it felt like her symptoms were on the verge of flaring up again. The roots on either side of them spread out from the tree in a 'V' shape, and while one person could sit comfortably between them, it provided barely enough space for two. Phoebe bunched herself in to take up as little space as possible, bringing her knees to her chest and placing her hands on top of them. Their shoulders had brushed when she first sat down, the light touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. She held herself tensely, leaning as far away as she could and leaving perhaps a centimeter of space between her shoulder and his. _You're being silly_. _Just relax, for Pete's sake._

Easier thought than done. It was probably a good thing that Mikhail didn't want to talk, because there was no way that Phoebe could have meaningfully contributed to a conversation while trying to keep her face from flaming up like a pile of sticks and preventing any sort of physical contact between the two of them. Her heart was hammering so hard she would not have been surprised to see it beating through her shirt, and there was sweat beading on her forehead that could not be explained by the mild temperature. _Why am I acting like such a dork?_ She thought, completely exasperated with herself. _He's just another camper, same as everyone else._ She glanced at his profile and felt another hot blush blooming over cheeks as she looked away. _Okay, he's a bit taller, a bit more mature-looking, his voice is deeper and he's really strong. But I'm strong too! We're both Astral Warriors._ She straightened her back, holding her head up high. _He's my equal._

They passed a few minutes like this, her with those thoughts racing through her head like they were on Milla's race track and him...well. She was not sure what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking anything at all. Taking a telepathic peek into his head was a tempting option, but she held back- nothing was more likely to destroy the foundation of trust she had begun to build than violating his mental privacy.

She settled instead for observing him out of the corner of her eye, sneaking quick glances to limit the likelihood of her symptoms overwhelming her. He was completely at ease; his shoulders relaxed, and his body perfectly still. The shifting shadows of the leaves above obscured the fine details of his face, but she could discern the pattern of his breathing: a long, slow inhale through the nose followed by an exhale through the mouth at the same speed, the sound of it as soft as the breeze. _Is he meditating?_ she wondered as she watched his chest rise and fall. _That's interesting._

Phoebe's therapist had taught her several meditative techniques to help her regulate her emotions and she was curious to know if Mikhail used the same ones. _Does he have a therapist like me? Or maybe the methods he uses are relevant to his culture, like his clothing?_ She wanted to ask, but now probably wasn't the best time to do so. If he was meditating he definitely wouldn't appreciate being interrupted by a barrage of questions.

She smothered her interest and decided to follow his lead by doing a little meditating of her own. How well she'd be able to clear her mind with him so close, she didn't know, but she figured that it couldn't hurt to try. At first she closed her eyes, but for some reason that just made her more aware of his presence, her lack of vision only making her more sensitive to the waves of psychic energy coming off of him. She opened them and tried to concentrate all of her attention on all that was in front of her; the grass, the muddy bank, and silver-blue stream.

Her slow, soothing breathing and the sight of the clear water rushing over rocks and sticks did have something of a calming effect, even if it was impossible to release all of the tension bundled up inside of her. Over the stream, a golden dragonfly hovered, its iridescent wings flapping as rapidly as a hummingbird's. Was it the same one Vernon had almost swallowed earlier? The dragonfly darted from one bank to the other, and then back at the center, moving so quickly that its form blurred with the motion. Phoebe followed it with her eyes, speculating on the motives for its behavior. _On the hunt for dinner? Or just getting some exercise?_ She tapped her fingers on the tops of her knees. _Don't fish eat dragonflies?_ Shadowy shapes lurked just under the surface of the water, freshwater fish that called the stream home and the dragonfly lunch. _Maybe it's playing a game. It goes out to the middle of the stream and waits for a fish to try to eat it, then it darts away just in time…_ She shook her head at her own silly thoughts. _C'mon, bugs don't play games. I doubt this was what Mikhail-Misha- meant when he talked about appreciating nature._

The dragonfly flew off, as though it had grown bored with the game Phoebe had invented for it. It zoomed out, away from the water and up into the sky, soaring much higher than she had previously assumed a dragonfly was capable of. Its slim body disappeared pretty quickly, but Phoebe kept her gaze on the sky. Up above, fluffy white clouds drifted across a blue backdrop, their various shapes large and abstract. "That one kind of looks like a lion with a big, shaggy mane."

"Where do you see lion?" Mikhail asked, the sudden question making her jump. "Only big cat native to this forest is cougar."

"Uh." The blush that had faded only seconds before returned in full-force. "Did you...was I thinking too loud?" Her words tumbled out in a clumsy heap. _Oh God, how much did he hear? Wait, can he hear this too?_

"Comment was made out loud," Mikhail said. He turned to look at her, a little smug. "Would have gone unheard were it not for Mikhail's keen sense of hearing."

Was that really something worth bragging about? The fact that he thought so struck Phoebe as both annoying and funny. "C'mon," she said, scoffing, "you hearing me isn't that impressive. I'm sitting right next to you."

Her dismissal did not diminish how proud he was of his accomplishment. "Little Firestarter is skeptical," he said, jerking his chin up. "But just try to sneak up on Mikhail, and you learn very fast how strong hearing is."

She envisioned attempting just that, seeing herself trying to tip-toe behind him and accidently stepping on a twig. The soft 'crack' would instantly alert him, and then he'd snatch her up with telekinesis, pulling her directly to his long, lean arms… "So anyway!" she exclaimed, changing the subject before she potentially started a forest fire. "There isn't any lion." She pointed up at the sky, toward a round cloud with jagged edges. "I think that cloud looks like one, that's all."

Mikhail followed the direction of her finger, squinting at the cloud in question. When he did, his nose scrunched up in a manner that Phoebe could only describe as cute. "How you see lion?" he asked after a few seconds of scrutiny. "There is only cloud."

"But it kind of looks like a lion. See," she said, tracing her finger along the outer edges of the cloud "That part looks like the mane, and here-" She moved her finger to the center of the cloud, at the contours that could be interpreted as a feline face. "Here are his eyes, and that's his nose…" She looked up at him to see if he was following along. "Do you see it now?" Mikhail made a sort of baffled grunt in response, which Phoebe took to mean 'no'. "Well, what do you think it looks like, then?"

"Like cumulus cloud," he replied plainly.

"What? Seriously?" Without thinking, Phoebe gave him a gentle bump on the shoulder with her fist, the way she did to Quentin whenever he said something silly. "It doesn't remind you of anything else?"

Mikhail shrugged. "Is cloud that look like cloud." His lips where a flat line, but his eyes were glittering, as though he were intentionally being obtuse to get a rise out of her.

It was sort of working, but she was not so irritated with him that she wanted to leave or set him on fire- ironically, she felt more at ease now than she had at any other point during their interaction. "Where's your imagination?" She jabbed her finger over at a different cloud, one that was long and oval, thicker at one end than the other. "I think that one looks like a baseball bat. What about you?"

"Hm." He studied the cloud, rubbing his jaw. He had the sharpest jaw of any boy Phoebe had ever seen. But then, all of his other features were sharp, from his cheekbones, to his nose, even his teeth. "It looks like…" he slid his gaze over to her, and Phoebe already knew what answer he was going to give her from the gleam in his eyes. "Base-ball bat shaped cloud."

She rolled her eyes, unable to keep the smile off her face. "Geez, you're impossible!" she said, which just made him break out into a grin. "You'd be the first person in history to fail a Rorschach Test."

It was either the word 'fail' or the word 'test' that pressed a switch in Mikhail's mind, for he then became quite serious. "Mikhail has never failed test in his life," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What is Rorschach Test?"

He stared at her with such intensity that she almost flinched- but not quite. "It's a projective test in which a clinician shows a patient a series of ink-blots," she explained. "The patient examines them and tells the clinician what they think of first when they see it."

"That so," Mikhail said, his eyes still boring into hers. "Does not sound difficult. Mikhail will crush test if ever administered to him."

"In order to crush it," Phoebe said, using air quotes on the last two words, "you'd have to take it seriously. You wouldn't be able to say that they all looked like ink-blots and call it a day. You'd actually have to think about what they look like to you and why."

"Mikhail is capable of relating abstract shapes to his life," he said, craning his neck up. He seemed to search the sky for a moment, his eyes switching from cloud to cloud until they finally landed on a large one drifting in from the east. "That one there," he said, "looks similar to geographic map of the Republic of Tatarstan."

Tatarstan? Was that a country? Phoebe had never heard of it, and she had thought herself pretty well-versed in the countries of the world. "Is that where you come from?" she asked, hoping that it wasn't a stupid question. _I thought he was from Russia, though..._

He answered in the affirmative. "Is Federal Subject of Russian Federation, with long history stretching back thousands of years. Bulgakov Family live there for many generations." He spoke with such pride that Phoebe was glad she had asked him about it. "Home city of Kazan very beautiful place."

For some reason, Phoebe had not expected him to have been from an urban environment- he seemed so perfectly adapted to living in the wilderness that she assumed that he'd been born in a hut in the middle of some Russian forest. _He's nothing like I expected,_ Phoebe thought, looking at him with her eyes wide with admiration. _It's really cool._

"Do you miss home? It must be hard to be so far away."

Mikhail blinked, as though the difficulty of being a foreign country was something that had not occurred to him. "Have not been away long enough to miss home," he said after a second of thought. "Too many new experiences and learning opportunities to worry about home-sickness. Also, many interesting opponents." At this he gave her a wink that caused her lungs to momentarily cease functioning. "What about Phoebe Love?"

"Huh?" The implication that he had found her interesting had also severed the connection between her brain and her ears, and she didn't at first register what he had asked.

"Little Firestarter also away from home. You miss family?"

"Oh! No, not really." She tapped her head- she'd been going to this camp for so long that the separation from her friends and parents was something she didn't really think about at this point. "I talk to my parents on the camp phone and my dad can contact me telepathically."

"Ah. So can Mikhail's. But not for long time and with much static," Mikhail replied.

"Your dad must be very strong if he can contact you from half-way around the world," Phoebe observed, to which Mikhail nodded in response. "I actually don't really live that far away, so it's easier for mine to talk to me."

"Hm. And where is home?"

"Portland, Oregon. It's about five or so hours south of here," Phoebe answered. "I'm always the last one the bus picks up."

Mikhail admitted that he had never heard of her hometown. "Study of geography focused on topography and climates."

Phoebe smiled at him shyly. "Well, I've never heard of Kazan or Tatarstan, so that makes us even." She leaned back, very satisfied with how this small cultural exchange had gone, resolving to look up both locations once she had access to the internet.

"Yes, even," Mikhail said, sounding just as satisfied. "But back to Rorschach Test. You see now that Mikhail capable of recognizing one thing as something else." He poked her on the shoulder, that small touch leaving a lingering dot of warmth. "When you give Mikhail test?"

"Uh, what?" Phoebe asked, confused. "You want me to give you a Rorschach Test?"

"Yes."

A giggle escaped her mouth. "I don't think that just anybody can just give the test out," she said, flattered that he wanted her to do it. "I'm just a student. The tester is supposed to be a professional. Like Agent Nein, maybe?"

Mikhail shook his head. "Skinny Scientist not willing to battle Mikhail for the right to experiment, and thus not worthy of the privilege of testing his skills." He pointed at Phoebe and his finger came so close to her face that for one second she thought he would boop her on the nose. "Firestarter different story."

He thought her worthy of testing him? She felt like she might start floating up into the tree at any second. "I, uh, wow…" She rubbed the back of her neck. "I would have to make up some ink-blots."

"Cannot be difficult. You just spill ink on paper," Mikhail said.

"I think there's more to it than that, but I could do it." Though initially doubtful, the idea was now taking root inside her mind. She could see it now- the two of them, alone in a quiet section of the Main Lodge, sitting at a table across from each other. She'd show him a blot, and he'd tell her what he thought it looked like. Then they would discuss why, getting into great detail about the buried psychological issues that had caused him to relate the blot to what had first come to his mind. And she'd take notes, so many notes, not just about what he said but the way he said it, how he moved when he spoke, the emotions that came into his night-dark eyes. Maybe if things got really rough, she could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, perhaps even go so far as to pull him into a hug…

The smell of smoke hit her nostrils, and when she looked down she realized that a blade of grass was beginning to smolder. "You know, that really does sound like a great idea!" she exclaimed as she smacked her hand over burning blade. _Ouch,_ she thought, forcing a grin onto her face. "It'll be a good opportunity for us both! Since, you know, I wanna be a therapist and all, hahaha ..."

"Then is settled. Firestarter will administer Rorschach Test and be amazed with the scope of Mikhail's imagination," he declared. He reached out a hand and held it out to her, shifting his body forward in a way that caused their shoulders to touch. Phoebe stared at it, her gaze roaming over the lines on his palm as her mind struggled to work out exactly what he wanted her to do. At her silence, he pulled back a little. "Is customary to shake hands after making deal, yes?" he asked, the uncertainty strange to hear coming from the normally confident Russian.

That spurred her into action. She thrust her hand out and clasped it to his, a loud smack resulting from the impact. His hand was so much bigger than hers, and yet they somehow seemed to fit together perfectly. Her fingers spread out against the back of his hand, and her thumb pressed gently into his palm. The roughness of his callouses, the light dusting of hair on the back of his hand, the slight squeeze of his grip- all of these sensations flowed into her mind one by one. To say it was overwhelming would have been an understatement, for her body and mind froze entirely, with only a single coherent thought registering: _His hand isn't damp like the other boy's are._ And it wasn't; it was cool and dry, a welcome relief compared to the heat growing inside of her.

Slowly her hand began to move up and down- oh right, shaking hands required one's arm to move at least a little. _Good thing he remembered._ To make up for her previous inaction, she began to move her arm more vigorously, tightening her fingers. "Strong!" Mikhail said, eagerly matching the strength and speed of her movements. "Grip very good for one so tiny."

"Ha, thanks," she said, the admiration in his tone going straight to her head and making her all giddy. "It's all the drumming I do, I think."

 _Phoebe? Where are you?_

The thought cut into the moment like it was a person who had decided to rudely insert themselves between the two of them. _Quentin, what do you want?_ she thought back rather sharply, irritated by the interruption. _I'm making important progress with a..._ It felt wrong to call him a client, especially when it seemed like she was the one making personal improvement. _With a friend._

 _You gotta come back, Phoebs,_ Quentin pleaded, his distress evident even through telepathy. _I can't take much more of this!_

 _Take much more of what?_ she asked, but then she remembered that she had left him behind with Vernon, who had probably not stopped talking between the time she had left and now. _Alright, I'm coming back,_ she thought, sighing and letting go of Mikhail's hand.

 _Please hurry! He's telling me a story about how he once got locked in a freezer at Kroger's and I think I'm gonna pass out._

"I have to go. Quentin's waiting for me," Phoebe said, pulling away from him reluctantly.

"That so?" he said, flexing his fingers as she rose from the ground and dusted herself off. "Farewell then, Phoebe Love. We have good talk."

"Yeah," she said, agreeing wholeheartedly with that assessment. She was glad that she had taken this little break with him, even if there had been times when she had wanted to sink into the dirt and disappear. Aside from one short lapse, her pyro hadn't gotten out of hand, and she felt closer to resolving her symptoms completely. And, more important than that, was how much closer she had gotten to Misha as a person. "I'll let you know when those ink-blots are ready," she said, already planning how she would go about getting that done, "and then we'll set up an appointment."

"Yes, very good. Mikhail look forward to adding Rorschach Test to his long list of aced tests." He gave her wave and one last heart-stopping grin. "Goodbye!"

"Bye, Misha!" Phoebe said, waving back before turning and rushing to her friend's aide. The warm glow she felt stayed with her through the trip back to the Main Lodge, and when she finally shooed Vernon away, she was a lot nicer about it than she would have normally been. The glow was there as she practiced her drumming, though she couldn't say it was to her benefit. The focus she usually had while playing was gone, as far away from the Main Lodge as Tatarstan was.

"Man," Quentin said after she missed the same beat for the third time in a row, his mood nowhere near as good as hers. "What did you guys talk about it? Did he ask you to marry him or something?"

For once, the teasing didn't annoy her, and she just shrugged, smiling from ear to ear.


End file.
